Journeys
by Agnes Robinson
Summary: A story about their first journey together from Downton to Ireland, making friends and learning about the other's life. The timeline and theme follow my other S/B stories. Enjoy.
1. Getting Away

Getting Away

Sybil Crawley rushed to meet her fiancée on a train platform on a Wednesday afternoon in April 1919. She almost couldn't believe she was here. At times it had felt as though the doors to her gilded cage at Downton Abbey would never open, she would never be able to be with the man she loved and her days would stretch on to eternity playing the part of the dutiful daughter. Now she was about to embark on a trip from which there would be no turning back. Once she set foot on the train and traveled with a man without a chaperone her reputation in the aristocratic world would be shattered beyond repair. She couldn't care less what people thought of her. She was getting on with her life.

She was excited and frightened at the prospect of traveling to a new place, and an entirely different way of life to the one she had always known. At the same time she felt the tiniest bit apprehensive. Her old doubts still lingered. "Would his people accept her? Would the scene when she arrived at his family home rival the one with her family when they revealed their engagement? Would her father ever fully come around?"

"Courage, Sybil," she had murmured to her self more than once this last week.

Her father had given his blessing two days ago, and Sybil had been happy beyond belief. But he had been distant when he kissed her goodbye and she knew she had hurt him and fractured his ideals of what was right and proper. She just couldn't be what they wanted anymore. Tom was the love of her life and there was no way she could live her life to please someone else. It was time to move forward, and here she was about to board a train into the unknown.

She spotted Tom Branson moving towards her down the platform through the billowing clouds of steam. She rushed forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he lifted her up and twirled her around.

"Are you ready love? This is it. No turning back."

"I've had enough waiting to last a life time," she said with a slight laugh.

He set her down and moved her towards the first class carriage.

"Tom what are you doing? We are not traveling first class are we?"

"Yes we are, the entire trip. I will not have my intended traveling in third class. It just isn't done."

"Tom…"

"No arguments. I booked passage on the Coast Lines Ferry. Its a ferry. Nothing fancy like an ocean liner. I registered the tickets as man and wife. I thought it would stop the gossips' tongues from wagging. I hope you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind. Why should I? If we hadn't been stopped we would have been married two months ago."

"Good, now where are your bags?"

As the train steadily chugged south-east on the first leg of the their journey Sybil's mind turned to her last few hours at home. While she was in her room Anna had approached her with a small notebook with a satin ribbon tied around it.

"Mrs. Patmore asked me to give you this."

Sybil untied the ribbon and opened the notebook to find a collection of recipes neatly written out in Mrs. Patmore's handwriting. The tears had sprung to Sybil's eyes. This was the first true gesture of acceptance she had received since her and Tom's announcement of their pending marriage. Sybil had stood, hugged Anna and headed for the door. Anna had been taken aback for a moment, as employers did not "hug" servants. Then this was Lady Sybil and she did things her own way.

When Sybil reached the kitchens she composed herself before approaching Mrs. Patmore.

"Lady Sybil, what a surprise to see you here on your last morning."

"I wanted to thank you myself Mrs. Patmore for all the support you have given me over the last few years."

For once Mrs. Patmore was speechless. It didn't last long.

"I haven't done anything. I was just doing my job."

"You have done more than that and I wanted to thank you for this." Sybil held up the notebook. She reached and took Mrs. Patmore's work roughened hand in hers.

"It was nothing, just go and be happy."

Mrs. Patmore gave Sybil's hand a squeeze as her face broke out into a smile.

The motion of the coach combined with the stress of the last week was making Sybil sleepy. They had the compartment to themselves and it wasn't long before her eyelids were drooping. Tom put his arm around her to pull her into his shoulder. Sybil's hand slid to his thigh. She felt a tingling sensation that reached deep inside her whenever she touched or looked at him. It made her anxious with anticipation and a little scared at the same time. "I have a surprise for you, Tom Branson," she thought to herself. "But it will wait till later." She curled into his side and allowed herself to drift.

Tom had had his doubts that this day would ever come. There had been so many hurdles to over come and so much pain mixed with joy in their relationship. In the back of his mind he had doubted Sybil's commitment until the evening they had confronted her family in the drawing room. Her fire and determination as she faced down her father finally convinced him that her feelings were as deep as his own. Together they could face anything.

Tom put the paper he had been reading to the side. He had not told Sybil that he was worried about his family's reaction. He wasn't the same person who left Ireland. So many there had a black and white view of the English. He had not been much better when he was young. He had been so idealistic when he first arrived but his experiences and life in England had changed him. He was an adult and he expected his family to respect and accept his decisions even if they didn't agree with them.

He leaned his head back and wondered how much Liverpool had changed in the six years since he had come to England. The Great War had brought about many changes. One of them was in transportation. The train trip now took six hours instead of ten. The latest steamships advertised the crossing to Dublin as reduced to twelve hours with the very latest ship making the crossing able to do it in eight in good conditions. How different it all was. How different he was from when he traveled east the first time. He closed his eyes and allowed his memories to wash over him.


	2. Miriah

Miriah

The schooner Miriah dipped and rolled in the swells on the Irish Sea. The weather was clear with a stiff breeze. They were making good time crossing from Dublin to Liverpool in early summer 1913. The Miriah was a fishing vessel fully loaded with her spring catch. They were making for English shores to get top dollar for their cargo. The fishing season had been stormy this year and the skipper had decided to put into Dublin for repairs and put off three of the deckhands due to injuries sustained in the heavy seas. On this trip like so many others they had taken on a working passenger. The crew could use the extra set of hands even if the man's main duties were peeling potatoes and washing decks. The spare set of arms to help hoist the sails and unload the cargo would be worth the bother.

A twenty-three year old Tom Branson stood peeling potatoes and onions with one hip braced against the counter in the small galley and leaned into the constantly sloping deck. The motion of the schooner was graceful in some respects as she lifted from the water and plunged but the warmth below decks coupled with the motion was making him feel a sick and his legs were starting to ache from standing on a constant angle.

"If your going to toss it, use the pail over there," the cook had said. "Make sure you put it over the leeward side or you'll be wearing it."

Tom had just nodded. He didn't fully understand the jargon of the sailors and the strange language they used to name the parts of the ship. He was just doing as he was told and his two days on the ship would be over soon enough.

Tom had been working as a chauffeur for the wealthy widow of an Irish coal baron for the last year. The job had been straight forward enough with only one car to maintain, but truth be told, it had been boring. The woman would not let him drive above a crawl and didn't approve of her staff reading anything besides the bible. So while Tom waited for the lady of the house while she paid calls and went shopping he was bored stiff. The living conditions had been rather poor. Tom took his meals in the kitchen with the other staff. At least what there was of the meals. The housekeeper was a stingy woman and prided herself on running a house on a low budget. The effect was that the staff had sparse, poor quality meals. It had been cold last winter and the small meals combined with the unheated servants quarters had made for some long nights when Tom's stomach had felt the pangs of hunger. His mother had knitted him an afghan before he left home. He had spent many nights wrapped in it for protection against the cold.

Tom liked to read especially politics, history, political flyers and the latest news. He had to smuggle the books and papers into his room under his uniform and keep them hidden. There was no way he could discuss recent events or politics with the other staff. Most of them were so exhausted from the working conditions they would not have been interested anyway.

That spring Tom had decided he had had enough and would look for employment elsewhere. He had heard the wages in England were much better than Ireland, so he sent a letter to an agency and started checking the papers regularly for a different position. He had word there was a job open driving for an Earl in Yorkshire, the pay was good and he had the job as long as he passed the final interview. He had put in his notice and then headed home to visit with his family for a few days before he left.

The Earl's representative had included a small amount for his passage but Tom had never cared for the steamers that plied the harbor. They rode low in the water and belched out thick plumes of coal soot mixed with steam from their funnels. He had never seen anyone who arrived from the 15-hour ferry crossing that wasn't covered in a fine layer of the oily muck. On the second day of his visit with his family he had headed down to the Dublin fishing quay to see if he could find passage to Liverpool. He was willing to work and many of the ships would take on working passengers for a fraction of the cost of the ferry.

As he walked the docks and inquired if there was a fishing ship making for Liverpool soon, he saw men at work on the decks of the ships. The men wore sweaters with the patterns of their home villages and families knitted into them as they had done for generations. The gulls cried and swooped overhead and the smell of fish, ropes and creosote permeated the salt air. The ships creaked and groaned against the docks and the hoops on their masts rattled in the breeze. Here and there amongst the wooden masts of the fishing vessels in the port stood the stacks of the small steamers that were beginning to appear in the fishing trade.

After a few inquiries he was directed to the captain of the Miriah.

"Aye, we're making for Liverpool in the morning. We have to get to the English shore with our catch. It's a two day run with a fair sea. We can take you for free if you stick around to help us unload. We're a few hands short. You look like a stout lad. If you're not afraid to work that is."

"That sounds fair to me," Tom said. He couldn't believe his luck.

"You mind me asking what kind of work you're headed for on the other side."

"I'm a chauffeur."

"A land lubber then. Well, we won't have you in the riggin' in that case but there is still plenty you can lend a hand with. We slip with the tide. Be here at four in the morning. The crew stands a six and six watch but you'll work from four to noon the first day."

Tom had bid farewell to his family. Before he left that morning his mother pressed a rosary of black beads into his hand.

"So you don't forget where you came from," she said as she kissed his cheek.

"Oh Mam, it's just England not the jungles of Africa."

"Still you don't know where the winds will take you."

And with that he had left his mother's home and headed for the docks. Tom showed up at the ship at the appointed time. He was shown his bunk and sent to the cook for his first jobs of the day.

At the turn of the watch crew had come in for a breakfast. The cook handed Tom a plate of food and told him to tuck in. Tom eyes had opened in surprise at the pile of kippers on his plate after the skimpy fare at his last post. These men were hard working and had no issues sharing the fare with those they worked along side.

"Hey Mick, give the boy another plate full," came from one of the crew.

"You just never mind your tricks John. We're short crew as it is. We need him to lend a hand, not be tossing his meals back to the fish all day."

The statement had come from the Boatswain and was accompanied by a chorus of laughter as the last of the crew got up from their meal and headed above decks to get ready to cast off. Tom had cleared the table and then accompanied the cook above decks to get ready to leave the shores of Ireland behind.

There wasn't time to watch the land slip away or think about the step he was taking. The crew had positioned Tom between two of the experienced deck hands on the lines to raise the sails. They quickly explained the words that signaled when to heave and when to rest. Soon the men where chanting the same ancient songs their fathers and fathers before them had used to raise the canvas. As the wind took up the main and they moved to raise the other sails, the men were all business. They explained how to watch out for the boom and the hazards on the deck.

The deck was healed over and Tom had to brace himself and watch where he put things to avoid having them roll away. Despite feeling a little nauseous he thought this was a much more interesting start to his adventures in England than sitting for hours in the day room of the passenger ferry.

The second day out the cook had sent him up top to do some work for the boatswain. He was set the task of polishing brass and given a large box of bright work items to work on once he finished the bell and compass housing. As Tom worked he listened to the men singing while they mended sails and spliced damaged line. In this place where no English solider could touch them or police would knock at their doors they sang the songs of Irish rebellion mixed with the songs of mariners old and new.

As Tom sat on the deck polishing bright work with his feet braced against a hatch, he wondered where his life in England would take him. He laughed at some of the lewd lyrics of the sea shanties and joined in the songs of rebellion that he knew so well. He wondered when he would again be with a group of his countrymen in a place such as this where no one could jail them for a song.


	3. Delays

Delays

Dusk was falling as Sybil and Tom walked down the Princes Landing Stage in Liverpool. A porter followed with their bags. There was a strong wind blowing and the first drops of heavy, cold rain were starting to fall. The steam ships of the Coast Line Ferry Service were tied along the landing. The gangways were embossed with each ships name and lead from the pier to the ship's brow. There were lights along the landing and even in the early evening it was busy with the bustle of people coming and going, porters working their trade and the crews going about their business.

"After all those years as a chauffeur, you would think I would remember to carry an umbrella," Tom had joked as they walked. Sybil pulled herself in tighter to his arm as though drawing strength from his warmth against the cold night. The crossing would take eight hours overnight on the SS Classic landing them in Dublin early the next morning.

When they reached the ship and presented their tickets, the Purser informed them the sailing had been canceled due to bad weather.

"I'm sorry sir, but the forecast is for heavy seas overnight and through tomorrow morning. We are expecting a twenty-four hour delay. We have reserved hotel space for our first class passengers at the Imperial Hotel. When you arrive there present your tickets. A room is being held in your name."

Sybil looked at Tom while he got directions to the hotel. She felt the slightest bit of alarm coupled with excitement at spending a night in a hotel room and another at sea with him. Their relationship had progressed much further than that ill-fated night at the Swan Inn. She had been prepared to tell him she was ready to take things further than the kissing and petting they had engaged in so far but how much further she wasn't sure.

Back at Downton Sybil had made it clear that there would be nothing more than kissing until things between them were settled. If they had succeeded with their elopement seven weeks ago it would have been a mute point. The decision to formally announce their engagement to her parents had created an entirely new set of problems. Plans needed to be made, sisters reminded to mind their own affairs and a new set of boundaries established in her and Tom's physical relationship. He had told her he wanted to face her father with a clear conscience. Sybil respected Tom's position and agreed with him but it hadn't been easy.

If their courtship had been a normal one without the need for secrecy they would have sat together at church. He would have come to dinner with her family and they would have spent evenings in a corner of the drawing room discussing their interests and flirting in whispers. They would have been free to sit together at a teashop, or take walks around the gardens. They had been forced onto a different path by a society that frowned on their mix of class and were trying to make the best of it. Sybil had often been able to get away to speak with Tom through the day but most of their conversations had revolved around planning their departure and any news they had received. On Tom's half days they had met in the secluded areas of the gardens weather permitting and twice Sybil had gone to his cottage after everyone had retired for the evening. They had both known that discovery would lead to a massive scandal but their lack of time alone had pushed them to take risks.

The chauffeur's cottage had been cozier than Sybil expected. Tom had explained that during large parties with overnight guests he was expected to accommodate the visiting chauffeurs while valets and ladies maids stayed at the main house. The cottage had a small stone fireplace in the sitting area with a sofa. As well there was a dining table with six chairs in the kitchen and a smaller table pushed under a window where Tom kept his writing materials. The rooms were small but adequate. Upstairs there were two small bedrooms, one of which had dormitory style beds. Originally he had been expected to take his meals here, but he had not liked the idea of one of the other staff members having to bring his meals down.

The two of them had spent their stolen time here curled in front of the fireplace on the sofa wrapped in an afghan. Sybil had undressed many men at the hospital, tended their wounds and washed their bodies, but none had tempted her to explore their bodies with her hands and lips as Tom's did. He had kissed her softly at first, then with more passion. As she allowed herself to enjoy the sensation of his lips and tongue on hers, her hands had moved to the buttons of his shirt and waistcoat. He had kissed her neck and the flesh exposed at the neckline of her shirt as she explored the firm texture of his bare chest and back. His skin was warm and smooth as silk with the hardness of muscle underneath. The light covering of hair on his chest tickled her fingertips. To be able to touch him and explore his body was like opening a gift on Christmas morning. She could feel his body reacting to their closeness and it made her want more and more. Tom's hands had brushed up her sides and made her gasp with sensation. When she felt his hand cup her breast she thought she would faint with longing and desire. There was nothing in her world in that moment but him and nowhere else she wanted to be. Tom had been the one to slow things down. No matter what he had his integrity and he would face her father without having to lie about their physical relationship.

Two weeks later Tom had heard back from most of the letters and applications he had sent out, but he wanted to wait a few more days in case he heard from a paper in Dublin he had applied to. Sybil's parents were going overnight to visit friends and she was confident she could get away to meet Tom at his cottage that night.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Tom had said. The blush crept up his cheeks as he pushed a hand through his hair.

Sybil's own cheeks had reddened at the sight of his. "I know our situation isn't ideal, but I want to spend time with you and I don't see any other way to manage it."

"Its not just that, Sybil," Tom said as he moved closer and took her hand in his. "I love you. I'm a man and I want to show you, not just tell you. I'm concerned for what might happen. Do you understand?"

This closeness with a man was so new to her that hearing him refer to their intimate relationship was still embarrassing. Her eyes turned to the ground then quickly looked up into his. He was so trusting, so kind and so completely without guile she loved him even more in that moment than she had before.

"I trust you, Tom. I just can't see any other way for us right now."

He nodded and drew her in for a quick kiss before he went back to work.

Sybil had a hard time waiting for the house to quiet that evening. Her skin crawled in anticipation of his touch. She wanted to be with Tom, to spend time with him, to touch and be touched by him so badly it was almost a taste in her mouth. There was a new intimacy to their relationship that evening as she laid against his chest and listened to him read. There was a definite deepening of their connection. She had always been able to read him and vice-versa but now it was more as their intimate thoughts became exposed to each other.

They had kissed and held each other that night, but only gone so far as to unbutton his shirt. As Sybil had lain with her head on his bare chest before she left she knew there was a subtle shift in their understanding. At this point more would just mean more complications. It wouldn't be long now. They just had to be patient.

The facade of the Imperial Hotel in Liverpool came into view through the rain-splattered windows of their cab. The rain had started to fall in earnest on the short trip from the landing stage. The heavy fat globs of water bounced when they hit the cobbled roads and soaked everything in sight. By the time Tom had gotten their bags transferred from the cab to a waiting bellhop, she was wet, tired and frustrated with yet another delay on the journey to her new home. Sometimes it felt like they would never arrive.


	4. Preconception

Preconception

Fred Morrison stood at the reception desk registering arriving guests at the Imperial Hotel in Liverpool. It was always busy when the weather was bad but this last while it had been worse than before. Since the end of the war there were more people than ever moving through the port bound for destinations in the Americas or the colonies. When there was a storm every hotel in town quickly filled to capacity. The few rooms that were left were reserved for the first class passengers of the Coast Line Ferry, as long as they were the right type of passengers, of course.

Fred had worked at the hotel for five years before the war and after his military service had returned to his old position as assistant manager. There was an unwritten rule at the hotel. No Germans and definitely no Irish who were not of the elite. They did not have signs posted in the lobby, but it was easy to tell by the accent who belonged and who didn't. Fred believed as many did in his circle that the Irish were a childlike race. They were loud, emotional and of a lower evolutionary order. They certainly didn't belong in his hotel.

As a young man and woman approached the desk, Fred readied himself for what he suspected were "unsuitable guests." The man was wearing a plain suit that looked like it had come off the rack in a general mercantile store. He had the fair coloring with a touch of red that was common among the Celtic people. While the woman was expensively dressed she looked wet and somewhat aggravated. Not the type of people he wanted to rent one of his last rooms to.

Tom Branson entered the lobby of the Imperial Hotel and quickly surveyed the room. This was exactly the type of place he had avoided during his time in England. There was no sign "No Irish" as there was in many shops. This was more the type of place that refused service with a polite excuse. With the ferries canceled and most likely other sailings as well, they would not have a hope of finding a hotel room else where in the city. This was it, all or nothing.

Tom glanced at Sybil and noticed the fatigue starting to show on her face. He had seen that look before when she returned from a long day at the hospital that had been particularly trying. He had wanted to give her a decent trip to Ireland. Only the lowest classes and the worst type of men had their wives or fiancée travel in third class. He could afford first class passage as his job at Downton Abbey had paid well. He had worked extra jobs, written freelance and had few expenses. He had more than enough saved for them to live modestly for the next year. Now standing in the lobby of a posh hotel, he hoped against hope that this would not be Sybil's first exposure to the prejudice he had received more times than he could count.

"May I help you?" said the man standing behind the desk. He was dressed in much the same livery as a footman and seemed to Tom to have the same slimy air about him as Thomas back at Downton.

"We were directed here by the Purser onboard the SS Classic. He said they had arranged for a room to be held for Mr. and Mrs. Branson."

"Your ticket, please." Fred gave the pair one of his best oily smiles. "I'm afraid Sir I don't have your name on my list," he said as he handed the tickets back.

"I see," said Tom through clenched teeth. "Do you have any rooms available?"

"No, I'm afraid not. We are booked solid."

Tom glanced at the keyboard behind the desk and could clearly see at least 15 keys that had not been given out. The man didn't have to post a sign to dispense with those he thought inferior. He just dismissed them with ingratiating manners.

Sybil glanced sideways at Tom's face. His jaw was clenched and his top lip was starting to protrude. He had looked just like that when her father had accused him of seducing her. He was just about to open his mouth to say something when Sybil laid her hand on his arm with a firm grip and looked him quickly in the eye.

"Mr…?" said Sybil in her best aristocratic tones.

"Morrison, Mrs. Branson."

"Mr. Morrison, do you realize who my husband is?" said Sybil. Her chin was now up and she had one eyebrow slightly raised in a perfect imitation of the Dowager Countesses' best imperious air.

"Well… Um… I…. No, Mrs. Branson."

"Mr. Morrison, my husband is an internationally acclaimed journalist. I assume when his review of your establishment is printed, you would desire it to be portrayed in the best of light?"

"Yes, yes of course Mrs. Branson."

"Good. Now please check again for our reservation. It would be such a shame for my husband's readers to be disappointed with the service he received especially on an evening with such weather. Don't you agree Mr. Morrison?"

"Well, yes, I quite agree." Fred Morrison made a fake attempt to scan the reservation list again. "Mr. and Mrs. Branson I see we do have a reservation for you after all. It was misplaced."

"Thank you Mr. Morrison," said Sybil in the most condescending tone she could muster. "I hope your hospitality won't be misplaced again in the near future."

Tom had closed his mouth and watched Mr. Morrison squirm through the entire exchange. The nasty little bastard had deserved every well-barbed insult and threat Sybil had just thrown at him. She was a peer all right. If he didn't know better he would have sworn it was a younger version of the Dowager Countess standing beside him in the lobby.

Fred Morrison continued to gush obsequious comments while Tom signed the register. The annoying man followed them all the way to the lift. Once Tom's anger had started to cool he had to work to keep his face impassive or risk breaking out in laughter. The man's antics were more ridiculous than anything he had ever seen in all his years in service.

Once they had gotten to the room, the bags were deposited and Tom had dispensed with the bellman, Sybil walked across the room unpinned her hat and angrily plopped it on a small table.

"Oh the nerve of that man," she said with a slight stamp of her foot. "I've never been so insulted. I can't believe he treated you like that."

"Well believe it, my love. Its not the first time and I'm sure it won't be the last," Tom said, as he couldn't hold his grin in any longer.

"What are you laughing about? It was so insulting."

Sybil raised her hand and started to rub her forehead as she often did when she was irritated.

"Because you were so darn imperious and you made him look totally ridiculous. He had every word of that coming."

"He did. Didn't he?" with that Sybil started to laugh. "The look on his face when he thought you would publish a bad review was priceless." Her face suddenly went serious. "Do you mind that I did that? I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable."

Tom crossed the room and put his arms around her.

"Sybil, if I wanted a woman who would hide behind me and meekly obey every word I said, I could have found that years ago. I want a wife who is my equal, who will tell me when I'm wrong and be happy when I succeed. You aren't afraid to speak your mind and that is what I want. What I've always wanted," with that he gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "International journalist is a long way from someone who wrote a few articles in his spare time. Sybil Crawley, I never knew you were such a liar," he quipped.

"I had years of governesses and drawing room training to hone my skills," she said with a laugh. "Now I need to get out of these wet cloths."

"Do you want to go to the dining room or order room service?"

"I don't want to dress for the dining room. Let's order room service."

Sybil headed for the bathroom with a change of cloths while Tom ordered room service. He went to a side table and emptied the contents of his pockets before he hung his jacket up to dry. The rain was pelting the windows now as the storm outside picked up.

The room was modern for the time and had a full bathroom with hot water. In the main room was the largest bed Tom had ever seen in his life. It was at least three times the width of his at the chauffeur's cottage. As well there was a small sitting area with a table and two chairs.

While Sybil was in the bath, Tom thought about the attitude of the man at the front desk. It wasn't the first time he met up with that kind of prejudice. He remembered his first sight of Downton Abbey from the gates as he walked up the road. He had wondered what he had gotten himself into. His own hatred of the aristocracy had led him to believe he would be faced with a completely different type of employer. He was surprised by his lordship's generosity with the library and the lack of the racially slanted reading material. He had fully expected to find a copy of Ernest Renan's La Poésie des Races Celtiques on the shelves of the library. He would have burned it in the middle of the lawn if his lordship had a copy. God knew how often the Tory's had used that damn book to justify their rule of Ireland.

The most surprising aristocrat of all had been Sybil. She was nothing like he expected a daughter of a peer to be. He had heard many stories of girls of her class toying with the affections of men in their families employ only to cast them off when a newer plaything came along. Sybil wasn't like that, not at all. She was honest and stubborn and interested in the world outside her class. She was everything he wanted in a wife and more. He didn't give a damn if she didn't know how to do housework or mend socks. He had done it for himself all these years. He didn't need a wife to do it for him.

By the time their dinner arrived, Sybil had emerged from the bathroom in her wrapper and Tom had taken his turn in the luxury of the private bath. He put on a fresh shirt and trousers but dispensed with the tie. They were both tired and hungry enough to forego the formalities.

"Who would think flounder would have such a fancy name as Filet of Sole?" said Tom.

"A rose by any other name," Sybil took a few bites of her meal. Then looked directly at him. "How often did people in England treat you like that man at the desk?"

"Sometimes, more often than not in some of the shops," Tom said with a shrug.

"You seem so resigned to it."

"I'm not," Tom paused from his meal. "Do you remember when I tried to humiliate that general and you asked me why I wouldn't promise you not to stage anymore protests?"

"Yes."

"A good friend of mine away from the estate told me some personal things about his life. He said hate and anger lead to a dead end street. He was right. I realized it doesn't get you anywhere, if you want to make a change then be the person you want to be and say things in a way that people will listen to. I think it made me a better writer and a better person."

Tom took a bite of his meal and chewed it slowly.

"Change will come, but it won't happen overnight. I can't change people like that man, I can only change myself."

Sybil went back to her meal as she thought about what Tom had said.

"I never told you, but you were right about the randy officers."

"What?" Tom said and had to cover his mouth with his napkin to hide a grin.

"I was going to tell you once, but I got distracted." Sybil pushed the vegetables on her plate around with her fork. "They were always making rude comments or trying something. That Major Bryant was the worst of the lot. I was a lot happier at the main hospital with the newly arrived wounded."

Tom reached across the table and took her hand.

"I know I have told you before but I hope you find a post that makes you happy in Dublin."

"As long as I am with you, I am happy. Now eat your dinner before it gets stone cold."

"Yes, milady," Tom said as a napkin sailed across the table and hit him square in the face.


	5. No Turning Back

No Turning Back

Sybil and Tom finished their dinner and pushed the room service cart into the hallway. Sybil retrieved her hairbrush and sat at the small vanity in the room to brush out her still damp hair. Her eyes lit on the pile of items Tom had taken out of his jacket pockets and left on the side table.

"Tom, what's this?" she said as she leaned over and picked up a string of black beads.

"What's what?" he said as he crossed the room to stand beside her. He looked down at the beads lying in her palm.

"It's a rosary. My Mam gave it to me before I left Ireland to remind me of where I come from," he shook his head slightly. "As if I would ever forget."

He took the beads from her and stuffed them in his trouser pocket. He moved to look out the window. It was dark outside and the rain was now coming down in sheets and being driven by the wind.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what it was."

"Don't be sorry. You know my family is catholic. I don't know how they're going to take me marrying someone who isn't."

Sybil got up and put a hand on his back. She didn't say a word. She just rested her head against his shoulder. After a short silence she spoke.

"I have to admit, I've been worried whether they would accept me."

"I expect them to respect my decision and to respect you. It will take time for both our families. In the end they will come round." Tom slid his arm around her waist and they stood there for a few more minutes.

The hotel maid had come by when the dinner was delivered and turned down the bed. It was like a giant white elephant in the middle of the room, that they had avoided looking at through the entire meal. They were both tired and a little anxious but neither wanted to broach the subject of their sleeping arrangements.

"Tom, can you turn out the lights," Sybil said at last. She remained by the window with her arms wrapped around her waist. Her anxiety at spending a full night with him and what might come was making her palms sweaty and her heart beat faster. "Stop it," she scolded herself. "You trust him. He won't hurt you and he won't leave you. You've come this far. You're safe."

Tom clicked off the lights and then moved to stand behind her. He slid his arms around her waist and kissed the side of her neck. Sybil's eyes closed as she leaned back into him. She bent her head to the side to allow him better access and let herself relax into the sensation. She slowly turned around and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. His mouth moved up her jaw and claimed her mouth. They had kissed before but not like this. Every ounce of pent up anticipation, dreaming and yearning was in his kiss and Sybil responded in kind. Her hands were tangled in his hair, touching his face and running down his neck.

He tore his mouth from hers and kissed a trail down her neck. His hands moved to the tie of her wrapper, and then pushed it from her shoulders. He slid the strap of her nightdress to the side and kissed the ridge of her collarbone. Sybil's hands had moved to his shirt and it quickly followed her wrapper onto the floor. Tom moved back to kissing her mouth. His one hand tangled in her hair while his other arm pulled her tight against him. God help him he wanted her, all of her. He'd had enough of waiting, enough of longing and pent up frustration. He wanted this to be good for her and for her to love being with him.

Sybil's hands ran over his sides and touched the muscles in his arms. When she felt his hand go to her breast and his thumb rub her nipple through the fabric of her nightgown, she groaned and moved to kiss the side of his neck. "This is right. It's where I belong," she thought to herself. Tom dipped his head to kiss her nipple where his thumb had just been and she thought her knees would buckle on the spot if not for his arm around her waist.

When her hands moved to the buttons on his trousers, he caught her hands with one of his.

"Sybil are you sure?" he whispered with his forehead leaned against hers.

"Yes, I'm sure."

"No turning back, no regrets."

"I don't regret one second I have spent with you."

The only light in the room was that of the streetlights reflected on the rain under the windows. Tom kissed her again and swept her up in his arms to carry her to the side of the bed. He couldn't quite see where he was going and hit the side of the bed with a thump. "So much for that gallant gesture," he thought to himself. He set her down gathered the fabric of her nightdress in his hands and pulled it over her head with one motion. He had felt Sybil tense slightly at his actions so he continued to kiss her being careful not to let their bodies touch until he felt her relax again. He quickly discarded the rest of his cloths and joined her in the bed.

Sybil gasped as his bare skin contacted hers for the first time. All she could do was to wrap her arms around him and pull him close. She felt as though she were being wrapped in a blanket of warm velvet with a million tiny sparks playing over her body as the same time. They both stilled for a moment to get used to the new sensation. Tom propped himself on one arm and kissed her again. His free hand caressed first one breast and then the other. His fingers teased her nipples. When he took her nipple into his mouth and gently sucked while his fingers continued to lightly knead the flesh around it. Sensations ripped through her body and shot to the wetness between her legs. She threw back her head and arched her back into him. Her hands grabbed the flesh on his back and chest.

Where was the fear and pain she had heard whispered about in drawing rooms? The closing your eyes until it was over while you did your wifely duty? Was this the difference when you chose someone for love instead of family obligation? This was all sensation and desire and wanting to open a book and turn the pages for more and more until you reached the unknown conclusion.

When Tom moved back to kiss her mouth again, Sybil reached out and tentatively stroked his hardened penis with her fingertips. Her touch was as light as a feather and she quickly drew her hand away at his slight intake of breath.

"Its alright, just do what comes naturally," he whispered. Tom took her hand in his uncurled her fingers and gently placed it on his abdomen in an invitation for her to explore his body. She reached out again and touched his erection. It was as hard as steel while the skin was soft as down. She shivered with excitement as she explored the edges of the head and drew her fingers over the slight indentation at the tip. Her mouth curled in a smile as she realized she had the power to give him pleasure with her touch as he did her.

His hand moved to the juncture of her legs and slowly stroked until she relaxed enough to allow him access. As his fingers explored the soft folds and grazed over her clitoris she withered and moaned. She was swollen and wet and ready for him. He closed his eyes and forced himself not to go too fast. He had to remind himself over and over to take his time and not scare her. They had all night.

Sybil couldn't believe the sensations that were coursing through her. Her fingers tightened around him. Her other hand went around his waist and was trying to pull him closer. She wanted more. She wasn't exactly sure what it was. All she could think about was getting closer and closer to Tom. She was moving in a cloud of pure instinct and raw passion.

She felt him nudge her knees apart and shift his weight. Then he was kissing her breasts again, sucking and rolling her nipples with his tongue. Her hands were in his hair and she didn't know how much more she could take. He shifted again and she felt him slowly enter her body. There was a slight popping sensation and then he was fully inside her. She threw her arms around his shoulders and her legs came up to wrap around him. She couldn't tell where her body ended and his began.

He began to move slowly at first and then with a slightly faster pace as she began to move with him. Sybil felt ripple after ripple of sensation rolling through her. When he reached between them and rubbed her swollen clitoris, her body contracted in pure pleasure that pushed her into an orgasm that made her cry out his name and shot pinpoints of light behind her eyelids. His mouth caught her cry inside his as he climaxed with her.

A short while later, Sybil lay nestled in Tom's arms with her head on his shoulder and one arm draped across his chest. Questions and thoughts jumbled through her mind but never made it to her tongue, as she was still much to shy to verbalize the majority of them. She couldn't get out of her mind all the rumors she had heard about how painful your first time was. There had been no pain at all, only a slight discomfort for a few seconds.

"Tom?"

"Ummm?" he said half asleep.

"Do you think its like that for everyone?"

"Don't know. Its like that for us. I didn't hurt you did I?"

"No, I'm fine. Better than fine." Sybil traced small circles on his chest. "It's a good thing I didn't know what it would feel like or you would have never made it out of that archway in York."

He only laughed softly.

"Are you happy then?"

"Very."

"Good. Now go to sleep."

Tom woke early. He was used to being up for work and try as he might he couldn't get used to sleeping in. He looked at Sybil lying in the bed beside him. He closed his eyes and opened them again to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Holy Christ after five years of chasing after Lady Sybil Crawley he had finally made love to her. He just hoped she had no regrets. He sure as hell didn't, but if his Mam ever found out there would be hell to pay and so much for a church wedding. He'd be at the courthouse purchasing a special license so fast there would barely be time for the ink to dry on the paper before they were wed.

Sybil wanted a small church wedding and Tom was determined to give it to her. He would have to side step any questions about their personal relationship. He was about to make a full time living using words. Time to think of a few perfectly acceptable comebacks, just in case.

He rolled on his side and looked at her. He had always thought she was beautiful from the first moment he saw her. Now thinking about how she had responded to him last night, she was even more beautiful in his eyes. He reached out and traced one finger along her bare armpit. He had never known before that she shaved her legs and underarms. "Must be a habit picked up from her American mother," he thought. He found it rather erotic.

"Enough with your daydreaming," Tom grumbled to himself. He got up and started picking up the clothing strewn about the room. Then headed into the washroom. He found an ironing set up in the wardrobe and plugged it in. His shirt from the previous night was a rumpled mess. He dampened it in the washroom and set about ironing it and getting the wrinkles out of his suit jacket.

It was still raining outside but the wind was starting to die down. Once Tom was fully dressed he headed down to the lobby to look for a paper to kill time. To the right of the marble stairs that led to the lobby was a large dining room with chandeliers and full silver table settings. To the left was a seating area with a waiter standing by a table with tea, scones, newspapers and flyers. Tom headed that way.

"Good morning, Sir. The library is open for morning service. Can I interest you in a paper and breakfast service?"

Tom turned to the left. There was a library that was even larger than the one at Downton, half filled with men reading their morning papers, drinking tea and smoking. To Tom it looked more like a men's club than a hotel library. There was no way he was going in there after the treatment he had received from Mr. Morrison last night.

"Just a paper, please. Whom do I speak to, to have breakfast sent up for my wife and myself?"

"I can take care of that for you, Sir. I will take your order. Please sign here with your room number."

"Just tea and scones is fine. I'd like it at 7:30."

"Very well, Sir."

With that Tom headed back upstairs. When he got back Sybil was just waking up.

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Just fine, thank you." Sybil said with a blush. She looked down to realize she was still naked.

Tom crossed over to one of the chairs, plopped down and opened the newspaper.

"You should get dressed, I have breakfast coming in twenty minutes. Your wrapper is on the foot of the bed."

Sybil reached for her robe. She was not sure of how to act this morning and his casual attitude was unnerving her a bit. She went to get up and winced slightly at her sore muscles from last night's activities. It was nothing a hot bath wouldn't cure. She went to one of her bags and took out some fresh cloths and checked her suit from the day before to see if it was dry.

"I ironed your suit for you. I hope I did it properly," Tom said without lowering his paper.

"Its fine." Sybil's eyes were downcast and she ready to flee into the bathroom and lock herself in for a good cry.

"Sybil," Tom said. She turned to look at him. The corners of his eyes were crinkled in merriment.

"You're very beautiful when you're asleep."

He threw his paper to the side walked over and grabbed her around the waist to lift her up and twirl her around.

"Especially when you sleep with me."


	6. Liverpool

Liverpool

Liverpool in the spring of 1919 was a bustling city. So many ships had been lost in the Great War that older obsolete vessels had been pressed back into service. It was time for the shipping companies to replenish their fleets and the shipyards of Liverpool, Dublin and Belfast worked at a frantic pace. Coal and goods from the colonies moved through the port at a regular pace and thousands of people looking for better lives in other parts of the world flowed out through the mouth of the port. There was a large ferry fleet of vessels conveying passengers between England, Ireland and Europe as well as smaller boats to the islands off the coast. Fishing vessels came into the port to sell their catches to local canaries or warehouses and carried back goods their families found hard to get in their homeports.

The city like many others in England, Scotland and Wales was in the grip of major social upheaval. Workers were striking for better conditions and the police strike was being felt particularly hard in Liverpool, with half the police officers in the city on strike. The police in the area were some of the worst paid in the country and negotiations between the two sides were not going well. It all made for a city that was in the throws of change. It almost hung in the air and built with a life of its own.

Tom and Sybil sat on a bench in a small park overlooking the harbor. The rain had stopped before noon and it was now sunny and warm. They ate pasties they had bought from a street vendor and were out enjoying the day before they had to catch the evening ferry. Tom had been in a teasing mood all day. Neither of them had been very comfortable with the morning after their first night together and Tom had gotten a good swat for his behavior. He had made it up to Sybil by bringing her tea and scones in the bath and sitting by the tub brushing the tangles from her hair while she relaxed.

They had too much luggage with them to carry it around all day. Tom had arranged with the hotel to transfer their bags to the ferry. Before leaving the bags with the hotel, they had changed the tags on her suitcases to read S. Branson. The scandalmongers were always on the lookout for a good story and an unmarried Lady Sybil Crawley spending the night in a hotel with a working class man would have been too good to pass up.

When they had gone to the desk to check out and settle the account, they were informed that Mr. Morrison had taken care of the bill.

"Mr. Morrison asked me to inquire if you enjoyed your stay with us Mr. Branson."

"I can honestly say that this was the most enjoyable hotel stay I have ever had."

Tom had a sardonic grin on his face and his eyes danced with merriment. Sybil had given him a sideways glance but managed to keep her face completely impassive. When they stepped out on the sidewalk she started to chuckle.

"You are so full of yourself this morning, Tom Branson."

"Now milady, might you have something to do with that?" he asked with a wink in her direction.

Sybil only blushed and took his hand as they headed off to explore the streets of Liverpool. Sybil had purchased a few postcards as a remembrance of their time here. She had wanted to take something as well for Tom's mother. They had located a sweet shop and Sybil bought a selection of candies not available in Ireland.

"Most people don't bite the hand that feeds them," said Tom.

"You could try feeding me something later and see if I bite," Sybil shot back with a laugh.

They had continued flirting and teasing each other until they had gotten hungry and wound up in the park.

"When you came to England, did you come on the ferry?" Sybil asked.

"No, I worked my way over on a fishing schooner."

"You are one for secrets. You've never mentioned it."

"No one ever asked me," Tom said with a slight laugh.

"What was it like?"

"The schooner? I was only on it for two and a half days, I don't remember much," Tom paused as he thought back. "I remember there was always lots to eat. Kippers for breakfast, fish cakes, salmon, and scones the rest of the time. The men loved to play practical jokes. Kept me busy one afternoon looking for a length of shoreline. I didn't get it until I asked the Boatswain and he pointed over his shoulder and said I could find one a day's sail behind us," Tom shook his head and laughed at the memory. "Despite all the jokes they were good, decent men."

He took a bite from his pastie and after a while he looked at Sybil with a serious expression on his face.

"I have a secret, I've never told anyone."

Sybil went very still and looked into his face. Her eyes opened slightly and her mouth formed into an O.

"You have to promise to never tell my Mam or Mrs. Patmore if we ever visit Downton."

"Alright. I promise."

"I'm an Irishman who hates potatoes," he said with a laugh.

At that Sybil got up and pushed him over backwards.

"Oh you are insufferable today!" she said as she erupted into a fit of laughter.

"I'm serious. I can't stand them. My Mam thinks potato pie is my favorite. You watch she'll have one baked for Sunday dinner and I'll have to choke it down to be polite."

"I faithfully promise I won't laugh when she makes you one and I will never ever attempt to bake one," Sybil made a cross over her heart with her finger.

"Good."

They had finished their lunch and set off along a walk that followed the harbor.

"Sybil there is something more serious we need to talk about." Tom stopped walking and took both of her hands in his.

"Last night was beautiful, perfect actually," he took a breath. "I'll never let on. Not to a living soul. What is between us is private. I want you to have a church wedding, but it might take time. If there is a child, we won't have a choice."

"Tom, I have no regrets. When I was at the nursing college I read how to count the days when you are most likely to get in the family way. I figured it out before we left Downton. It's not a perfect system but we should be fine. I didn't know how to tell you."

Sybil raised a hand to his cheek and looked deep into his eyes.

"Don't ever doubt how much I love you," she said.

"Nothing for us ever seems to be laid out in a straight line does it?"

"No, but it certainly keeps things interesting," Sybil said with a glint in her eye. "Too bad we don't have that hotel room for the afternoon. Just how big do you think the beds on the ferry will be?"

"Sybil Crawley, people keep calling me a revolutionary, but I have nothing on you. What would people think if they heard you talking like that?" Tom was laughing as they resumed walking.

"You forget. I don't care what people think."

That afternoon they found a teashop not too far from the Princes Landing Stage. Sybil had noticed over the last few days how Tom always asked her if she were warm enough and had enough to eat. She thought there was something more to his queries than just concern for her welfare but she wasn't sure. There were other odd little hints, like how he had put marmalade on his scone this morning and closed his eyes as if savoring every morsel, or how so many of his memories seemed to center around food. It was nothing concrete but they were usually so in tune with each other she just knew Tom was not saying something.

"What's your favorite food?" she asked him.

Tom leaned forward and whispered in her ear. "Pretty girls with dark hair."

"Oh, be serious."

"Alright. Its Yorkshire pudding with beef gravy."

"Really? I thought it might be marmalade."

"Why is that?"

"You seemed to enjoy it so much this morning."

"I've only ever had it twice in my life. The first time was when Mrs. Patmore had a large crop of oranges from the orangery and made an extra bowl full for the servants. Why all the questions all of a sudden."

"You always seem so concerned if I am warm enough or if I am hungry. I wondered why."

"Because I have seen the lack of it and I don't want you experiencing it," Tom looked somewhat uncomfortable at the turn of conversation. "Its not something I like to talk about."

Sybil was realizing how radically different their lives had been while only living a few staircases apart. Things she had taken for granted all her life, for him were rare treats. He was so bright and talented and so much had been denied him in his life. It just wasn't fair. She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers.

"I will make you all the Yorkshire puddings you ever could want. I promise. I just have to figure out how to make them first is all."

"You'll figure it out Sybil," he said.

Sybil realized he wasn't talking about cooking and remained silent.

"We both will."


	7. Moving Forward

Moving Forward

The Landing Stage was busier than it had been the previous evening. Delayed passengers were anxious to board the waiting vessels. Cargo was resting on pallets and bags of mail and parcels were piled on carts waiting to be loaded. Amongst the bustle and confusion there were stalls selling everything from postcards to clothing. Plumes of steam and smoke rose from the stacks of the ships that looked much larger close up than they had from a distance.

Sybil was excited to be boarding the ferry and setting off on the next leg of their journey. She felt as though she had opened a series of doors and found a new treasure behind each one. She wanted to keep opening and opening them and never stop. She treasured the memory of being with Tom for the first time and the easy banter that flowed between them when they were away from the stresses of their previous life. Facing the prejudice at the hotel or realizing that Tom had been cold and hungry at times in his life were not positive revelations but they were hers. They made up part of the person she was becoming.

Their bags had been delivered and were waiting for them at the baggage claim area. Tickets were checked and the attendant advised them to only take the bags with them they would need for overnight. The rest could be checked through and would be available at the claim area in Dublin. Tom thanked the man and deftly grabbed the two cases. He was getting frustrated with being waited on although he knew the men performing these functions did so as their livelihood as he had done until just over a week ago.

Once Sybil and Tom were on board they received their cabin and deck assignment from the Purser and headed off to find their cabin. While they were walking along the deck Tom's eyes suddenly narrowed. Standing in front of him in a deck officer's uniform was John Reilly from the Miriah or at least he thought it was.

"John? John Reilly isn't it."

A man about Tom's age with a short clipped beard and weathered face turned to look at them.

"Yes, it is. And who…Tom. Tom Branson?"

"Aye, it is. I didn't expect to see you here."

"Its been years. Is this your Mrs.?"

"Yes, it has."

The two men shook hands in greeting.

"My fiancée, Sybil Crawley. Sybil this is John Reilly. One of the men who plagued me with tricks on the Miriah."

John tipped his hat to Sybil. He had that same look of easy merriment about him that Tom often had.

"How do you do?" Sybil said in greeting.

"Nice to meet you. You heading home then?" John asked.

"Yes. I have a job at a paper in Dublin. What are you doing here?"

"My Mrs. got tired of me being gone all the time, so I took a job here as 4th mate. I'm home eight days a month now. She's a lot happier."

"Are things as bad as I've heard? You can't really trust the English papers."

"Some places. I moved my wife and kids to a small town outside of Dublin. It is quiet there. I take it your getting married soon?"

"Yes, as soon as we can arrange it," Sybil contributed.

"You'll have to come over and meet my wife. She loves anything to do with weddings. Would have had me to the alter twice over if she could," John just shook his head. "Where can I get a hold of you? I'll have her send a note round when I get home."

John reached into his pocket and pulled out a note pad. He and Tom exchanged contact information.

"Right, I had better get back to work. If I don't keep an eye on the loading they'll have us listing to port for the entire run."

"Its good to see you," said Tom.

"Likewise. Miss Crawley."

With that John headed off down the deck signaling to some of the crew that was loading cargo.

"He seems like a nice man," said Sybil.

"He is."

"I've worried so much about your family, I never thought about your friends."

"I do have them, you know," Tom laughed. "In Ireland and in England."

"I'd like to meet some of them. Do you think they'll accept me?"

"Some will and some won't. Its no different than in England. I made friends there and we'll make friends here who will accept us. There's good and bad everywhere."

"That's true. I don't think the people I was friendly with back home were really my friends. They won't accept us or any of this."

"Give them time. They might. What your family does will play a big role."

"I hate to think of what Granny will get up to. You have no idea what she can be like."

"Oh I think I do. I heard plenty while I was driving her about."

They had arrived at the cabin. Tom opened the door and allowed Sybil to enter first. The cabin was small with two bunks on the wall and a porthole. Both bunks had high wooden rails fitted to the sides. There was a small closet, fold down basin a rack with high sides around it just large enough to hold their cases and a small settee. The distance between the bunks and the settee was about three feet. The ship had been used as a troop carrier during the war and the space was utilized to maximum advantage. The one concession to first class was the cabin had wood paneled walls. There were no baths or showers on board for passenger use.

Tom deposited their cases in the rack. As he turned back to Sybil she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

"I've been thinking about doing that all day," she said.

"I don't think you want to know what I've been thinking about doing all day," Tom said with a half smile as he pulled her even closer.

An hour and a half later they had watched the shores of Liverpool slip away. The lights from the city twinkled on the water and Sybil could hear the sound of the water rushing past the hull. The deck had a slight vibration and the sea was calm. Tom had not said a word as he stood beside her at the rail and laced his fingers with hers.

When they started to feel the cold. They turned to head inside.

"Well, be back one day," was all he said.

Sybil just nodded and wiped away the single tear that had escaped from the corner of her eye.

They made their way to the salon where dinner was available. The ship was at capacity due to the canceled sailing the day before and there was a line to get a table. Tom and Sybil stood talking quietly when a young woman close to Sybil's age approached them.

"Excuse me," she said. "Are you English?"

Her own accent was English and she sounded as though she came from the Bristol area.

"Yes, I am," Sybil replied.

"I hope you don't mind me approaching you. There are so few English on the ferry. I'm Mary Collins. Would you mind if my husband and I joined you. He'll be along in a minute. It is so much easier to get a table for four."

Sybil glanced at Tom and he gave her a slight nod.

"Please feel free to join us. I'm Sybil Crawley and this is my fiancé Tom Branson."

"How do you do?" said Tom.

If Mary Collins was surprised to hear Tom's Irish accent mixed with Sybil's rounded aristocratic tones she didn't show it.

"Its nice to meet you both. Here comes my husband Desmond now."

As introductions were made Sybil realized Mary and Desmond were in an English/Irish marriage, but she doubted they had the class barriers to overcome that had plagued her and Tom. Desmond Collins was an engineer with the city water works and had met Mary when he attended a conference in London to which she had accompanied her father about a year ago. They had married in England and had been living in Dublin for the last 10 months.

Mary had been right about the seating and they quickly got a table for four in the salon.

"I teach at a small private school," Mary told Sybil while the men were engaged in their own conversation. "It isn't always easy being English in a place where many don't like you for your accent. We are thinking of moving back to England. My husband was interviewing for a position in Hastings."

"Is it really as bad as all that?" Sybil inquired.

"Its not terrible in Dublin, honestly. You do find people who don't care that you married an Irishman but Desmond is frustrated with the lack of progress at his work. He wants to make changes and the funding keeps getting cut. It would be a better position for him in Hastings."

The women chatted amiably through their meal. Sybil wanted to ask Mary how she had found her husband's family and if they had accepted her easily, but it would have been impolite. By the time they had finished their meal Mary had extracted a promise from Sybil to come around to tea on the next Thursday.

Sybil was standing by the closet in their cabin hanging up her and Tom's jackets.

"The Collins seem like a pleasant couple," she said. "Mary mentioned they may be moving to Hastings soon."

"Desmond mentioned it as well. He is in the same profession as her father."

Desmond had told Tom the potential move was as much about his wife's happiness as it was a professional advancement for him. Anti-English sentiment was growing in Dublin and Desmond's family had not been exactly welcoming to his new wife. She was tolerated but not really accepted. Tom was worried enough about the reunion with his family the next day. He didn't want to add to Sybil's anxiety with the information. He wondered if they would be making a similar choice and trip back to England in the future.

"Mary asked me to tea next week."

There was a brief pause as Sybil took Tom's waist coast and hung it as well. She retrieved her hairbrush and started to take down her hair. Tom moved to sit beside her on the small settee, took the brush and started brushing out her hair. It was one of the small routines that had formed between them during the forced closeness of the trip that needed no acknowledgement.

"That's a good thing. It will give you an outing."

Sybil was still contemplating the conversation with Mary.

"She never mentioned how she gets on with his family. I was curious but it would have been impolite to inquire."

Tom stopped brushing and turned Sybil's face to look at him.

"Don't fret. We got through the drawing room with your family. We will get through whatever comes with mine."

Sybil reached up to squeeze his hand.

"I know we will."

They made love that night. It was different than it had been before. It was slower, more deliberate and filled with the reassurance and comfort they both needed from the others' touch. The sea was slightly rougher now and the deck swayed in a gentle rocking motion. The moonlight reflected off the short choppy waves and colored the cabin with a soft grey light. The bunk was just wide enough to accommodate the two of them. The wooden rails that prevented them from rolling out with the motion of the ship added to Sybil's feeling of being wrapped in a cocoon of love and protection.

She gasped and sighed at his touch. She was a becoming more comfortable with Tom all the time and felt a sense of freedom in allowing him access to one of the most intimate areas of her existence. When she reached her climax she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was the only man for her and had been since the day she first laid eyes on him.

In a few hours their journey from Downton to Dublin would draw to a close. It had been one of physical awakening, of new friends and a deepening of understanding between them. There was no way their relationship had to be. It was theirs and they were free to mold and shape their shared existence as they saw fit.

They were both nervous about what tomorrow would bring, but it was only another step on their journey together. Their path did not run in a straight line as Tom had said. It would in future turn and shift and take them in directions they could not foresee. Sybil looked forward to every minute of that journey. She did not regret the one that had finally gotten her to accept Tom's proposal and she did not regret the one that had brought her to Ireland. Life was a series of journeys. From here on, they were on those journeys together.

_the end_


	8. Author's Notes

Author's Notes

Hi: I get lots of questions regarding the research for this story and the reasons behind some of the action. I am not including citations just observations on articles I have read or reasons why. Many things can be found if you Google the topics.

Chapter One

When Sybil boards the train and reflects that her reputation will now be ruined is based on Winston Churchill's niece. The real person lost her reputation and was banned from society when she walked across Hyde Park without a chaperone.

Travel first class was common in the time period for brides and fiancées. No man who was decent would ask his bride to travel otherwise. I asked my grandmothers about this when I was young as they had both been post WWI brides and I had heard of the treatment of people in lower classes on the steamships crossing the Atlantic. Even if the man had very little and could only provide a sod house at the end of the trip, the bride traveled first class. Sometimes it took two or three years to save enough to be established and send for their girl friend.

A hand written cookbook was a common gift to a girl setting up house right through the 1960's. Today the parameters have changed somewhat as we would probably scan a recipe or take photos with a cell phone, but it is still a tradition passed through generations.

Chapter Two

The name Miriah means star of the sea. Working passage on a ship was a common practice in costal communities. It seems to have become one more casualty of 9-11. I live in a maritime community and many ships in my country have completely stopped the practice. It is another unfortunate cultural casualty from that awful day.

Sailors are notorious for playing practical jokes, especially on new people. It is harmless stuff. A common one on steam ships was to send the new guy for a bucket of steam. Another more modern trick is to crazy glue a coin to the deck and wait till someone tries to get it.

Freezing in staff quarters or receiving skimpy rations was common for many people in service. There are many accounts of the type of thing I describe here.

Knitting was predominantly a man's activity until well into the mid 20th century. Fishermen wore sweaters with patterns specific to their town or family so when bodies washed ashore families could be notified. It was a tough life full of danger.

Early steam ships actually did belch out the most disgusting black goop as they were fired with coal. It stuck to everything.

Singing is a big part of naval tradition. Even today the same songs are used to raise and lower the sails on sailing ships that do not use electronic motors to hoist the canvas. The entire crew turns out on deck when the sails are raised and lowered and there are specific chants for each activity. Typical songs while working would have been Barret's Privateers, and possibly the Drunken Scotsman. Both of those songs are available on YouTube. I don't know if Irish sailors would have sung Barrett's Privateers, but its an old song from the War of 1812 and would have been common in Atlantic sailing culture at the time.

I will include a link for an image of the type of ship I am describing in this chapter but no idea of the site will allow the text. Fishing schooners were used well into the 1940's when ship's engineering had advanced enough to make engines that were suitable for fishing boats.

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Chapter 3

The Princes Landing Stage was active in Liverpool in 1919 and was the largest floating pier in the world at the time. Coast Line Ferry was an amalgamation of three smaller companies in 1919. They were the forerunner of what is now the Irish Ferry Service. If you Google Belfast SS Classic you will find historic pictures. Classic did 19 knots and was advertised to make the overnight crossing in 8 hours. Today the same trip is 7 hours overnight.

I live in the north pacific and April and October are storm months. Since Titanic sunk on an iceberg in April and the north Atlantic is colder than the Pacific, they would freeze if they stayed on deck during the crossing and April would most likely have storms.

The Imperial Hotel is based on The Cavendish Hotel in Eastborne, UK. It's a hotel that still has the fancy dining room service, giant library and drawing rooms off the lobby.

The description of dating in chapter 3 is from accounts of courting from my own relatives. One of my very old great aunts told me that dating had changed radically from her time. They were peasants in Europe and the accepted form of courtship was to walk home from church with a group of your friends. Also it would be acceptable later in the relationship to sit together in church or visit with families. The girls were scared to death of getting pregnant. My grandmother used to talk about a scandal in her village where two people got caught together. It was a quick trip to the village priest and they were married the same week. I am avoiding any mention of previous relationships. It would not be an acceptable topic of conversation I believe and I spent a lot of time my grandparents who were of that generation and from northern England. I highly doubt previous sexual relationships or even courtships would ever be discussed. It straight out wasn't the honorable thing to do.

I did some research into chauffeur's cottage and most of the ones I found still in existence were huge with five to seven bedrooms. He is a single man therefore I stuck him in a two bedroom. I did find a few in my research but most of the smaller ones were in the US.

Chapter 4

Racism in that time period was rampant and there is a great deal of academic work on the subject. It seems bizarre today to have prejudice based on accent. The book I mention was written in 1854. It is considered pseudo science and was quoted repeatedly as a reason to sustain British rule in Ireland was well as suppression of Celtic people throughout the UK, colonies and America. The entire issue is more complicated than that but the attitude of the desk clerk is taken directly from research. The most disturbing item I found while doing this research was an page of classified ads from a New York, New York newspaper circa 1920 where every ad specified No Irish, even the ones selling used furniture.

I think Sybil had a lot of courage to defy her family and go off with the man she loves. She would also have the training to make the little worm squirm on the hook.

When Tom tells her the type of wife he wants, the scene is based on my own life. I think its why these characters resonate so strongly for me. My husband always said he wanted something different than where he was from. Girls in his culture mostly had the ambition to work at the fish plant, live three doors from Mom and Dad and have children. My other half wanted something different. I don't think I'm all that radical but compared to where he is from I am.

Don't laugh too hard at this, but a few years back my mother and sister in law came for a visit. I was thinking what I could do to amuse them, so I booked pedicure appointments at the spa. A good girly bonding activity or so I thought. I got them to the door and they balked. I had to practically pry them in the door. Once in the door, they liked the spa, but it is just one example of the many differences. I know all about the underhanded insults you get when your in laws don't quite agree with their child's choice. By the way, I have a great husband.

Chapter 5

The trip from York to Dublin even today is a long one unless you fly. I do think sex would have come up on the trip and her reputation would already be done. I also think Tom would be trying to protect Sybil as much as possible and would have booked everything as man and wife. They have been pushed outside the lines of convention in both classes and would have to make up their own rules.

In the show he is an honorable man and to me that means he would make sure she was ok with sleeping with him. Writing in a male voice is hard. I don't really know what men think about. I had to ask for some input on that one. I do think that if his mother or her family found out they were doing the nasty they would be married at the JP so fast it wouldn't have been funny.

Chapter 6

In 1919 there was a huge police riot in Liverpool that lead to the formation of a national governing body for police in the UK. There were also many strikes as people were fed up with the working conditions.

I noticed in the show that sometimes they seem to be joking around with each other and sometimes the conversation is serious. I think it is pretty typical of most couples. I do think Sybil is continuing to grow up over this time period and realizations of other people's living conditions that she lived with all her life would have come up.

The part about not liking potatoes is based on my real life husband. He doesn't like his mother's cooking very much and he pretty much hates the majority of traditional foods she prepares. At a family dinner he said he liked my cooking much better. His comment stopped the room. He got a well-deserved kick under the table from me for that one. Now he chokes it down and smiles regardless of how bad it tastes.

Chapter 7

I think that people in Tom and Sybil's situation would be forced to find friendships and build a support system away from their families and possibly from some unconventional sources. I don't want to hazard a guess as to how it actually went for them in Ireland as I am hoping it will be covered in Season 3.

I do think though that her dad would have shelled out enough so they had a reasonably comfortable existence. As well people who were immigrating to Canada or the US often moved away without their furniture and would sell the entire household at a time if they could. So the probably lived in a fairly decent place without servants, as their beliefs would prevent that. I don't think he would care if she knew how to keep house as if he wanted a housekeeper type wife he would have found that in the first place.

Hope you enjoyed the story and as always please review. I like to hear from you.


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